I caught Will's eye. At another time I should have been embarrassed. To-night, however, I felt a strange self-control.
"Oh dear, what an old chestnut!" I answered flippantly. "I believe that's the nine hundred and ninety-ninth time I've answered that question this season." I noticed that my voice took on a bored tone.
"Well, tell us!" urged mine host.
"To tell the truth," I began, "I never give it a thought."
Will's eyes twinkled; he was seated at the far end of the table between two stall-feds.
"It's a part of the business," I continued, "just as dictating to his typewriter is a part of the routine of a business man. Does every wife suspect her husband's stenographer?"
"Yes! yes!" came the chorus from the curvilinear gentlemen at the other end of the table.
I shrugged my shoulders. "Very well, then, it seems to me, since you gentlemen won't behave, that it is up to the women to see that you do!" I sat down. I felt ashamed of my vulgarity. Our host suggested a toast and scrambled to his feet. "Here's to our wives and sweethearts—may they never meet!"
There was more laughter. The dentist murmured something about moss-grown jokes, and the hostess asked why husbands and lovers were excluded. I felt my mouth drawing down at the corners, and I buried my lips in the American Beauty rose the sculptor had purloined from the centre-piece.
It was probably the frequent replenishing of the wine glasses which led the doctor-dentist to level all his batteries of fascination upon me. He moved nearer and closer, until even the hostess noticed his efforts; she thought it funny. Finally, he slipped his hand beneath the table and let it rest upon my knee. I arose and asked the sculptor to exchange seats with me. I think he understood, for as I passed him he said to me in a low, intense tone, "Is that beast annoying you?" I did not answer. In my confusion I upset a glass of wine, and the wine-agent across the table told me he was sorry I didn't like his wine.